Prologue

A Self Portrait
 ft. my impetigo

A beginning is the time for taking the most delicate care that the balances are correct. This every sister of the Bene Gesserit knows. – Princes Irulan (Dune Frank Herbert)

So even though I have not yet taken flight, I shall introduce you (though I know I will never feel satisfied now that I've started.)
  I am taking a gap year (it's the fashion now I think), in which I am currently saving to travel the Middle East.  This is the journey I want to share, although first I must place you in my reality, sharing an unnecessary Prologue.


  Fuelled by the currents of year 12, I flew through exams and into my gap year where I neglected the delicate care a new beginning needs.

When many people say ‘high school is the best’ and that they ‘wish they were still there’ they undermine those in the struggle.
  I think I say it with a difference.  School, even VCE, suited me for one particular reason: I could focus on short term goals which would, eventually, add up. Sacs, homework, exams; each would get done and put aside as I ignored the bigger, more daunting ideas and thus avoided stress. 
  Out of school, each project hovers on its own.    Like rudders, each hovering like the levels on icy towers.  Out of school, I must secure them all together, forming a ladder as I climb whilst also controlling my direction.  This, too, involves knowing your goal – a goal which needs meaning rather than a mere number.  I probably got a tad stressed in year twelve, but the last month of working and organising my rudders has had me running up bell street crying, becoming ‘underweight’ (doctors words – I distrust them though they help my cause), and now lying here with a juicy, blistering scab crawling up to my lips, garnished by a sprinkle of breeding babies, itching as they grow in respect to their father.
  I’m organising my gap year, you see, motivated by the numerous lectures given to me by my grandparents, doctors, and seniors about how it’s a waste of time.  Additionally, I’m rather sensitive to the disapproving looks people give as I explain why I wait people at their tables.  Tip number one: Don’t have a gap year unless you feel worthy of one, and self-assured enough to ignore such opinions.

1.(photographing myself so that Mum
 could show the nurses at work)

2.(sketching myself before work...)

Tip number two: Choose job carefully.  And once you have it, it’s harder than you think to ask for a holiday… though no one wants to hire you if you’re leaving for overseas soon.  This job must also offer frequent shifts of reasonable hours. 
Working at both a bar and a café offers little time to sleep.  Particularly when each job seems to offer the most shifts on weekends! The imbalance of hectic work and little work is not healthy even once you ‘get used to it’.  My dreams will forever be haunted with dirty tables, and I’ll tell you now (because it's the Internet and I'm convinced I'm talking to myself) that I no longer wish people a good morning, evening or day.  Caring for people around me has become a job. I dread it.  Thank god I can communicate without human beings in times like these.

There has to be a lucky old Tip number three and I’d like to make it: Keep in mind why you’re doing things.  Does it make you happy? Is it worth it? But this is far too easily said than done.  Perhaps, I’ll start saying it every day so I remember, and seeing if that helps me avoid stress.  I’ll report back.